Chapter 77

Williams replayed Evelyn’s words again and again, each repetition cutting deeper than the last.

MEAN.

She had never been called that before. Not once. Not even by her enemies, and she had many.

The word settled like a foreign object lodged in her chest, absurd yet strangely destabilizing.

Who did Evelyn think she was to throw such judgments at her?

To accuse her, Niran Williams, of lacking empathy?

Niran considered herself flawless in discipline, in composure, in intellect, beyond reproach. Yet that little devil had looked her straight in the eye and suggested she was incompetent, unbalanced, and emotionally deficient.

Her fingers curled.

She checked the time. Evelyn still had an hour before resuming her tasks, but the thought of waiting even a minute ignited something volcanic inside her.

No.

She was not waiting.

She rose, her steps heavy and sharp, echoing on the marble floor as she stormed toward the dining room. Upon arriving, she did not see Evelyn. But one thing caught her attention: the untouched plates.

She froze, then realized that when she had pushed her plate away in anger, Evelyn had mirrored the gesture, leaving her own meal untouched. It was a subtle, silent act of defiance, and she was not going to let it slide.

Jaw tight, she turned and walked toward Evelyn’s room.

Without knocking, she threw the door open, ready to unleash a torrent of professional condemnation. It was stronger than her. But the words died in her throat as an unexpected turn of events struck her.

Evelyn, stepping out of the small adjacent bathroom, barefoot, droplets racing down her skin. A mini towel was wrapped tautly around her torso. Another towel was in her hands as she dried her hair, lifting her arms enough to expose the curve of her waist and the smooth line of her thighs.

For a moment, they froze, the silent standoff radiating raw, uncomfortable energy. Evelyn’s lack of reaction was a strained test of her composure. Yet, she held her head high, her gaze sharp and neutral, desperate to mask the sudden, disorienting heat invading her body. She clenched her fists until her good hand ached.

If I look down, it will be a sign of weakness, she thought, locking her vision onto Evelyn’s face with all her strength.

Evelyn finally spoke, voice low and ironic.
“Are you going to stand there and watch me half naked, Dr. Williams?”

“I’ve seen more naked bodies than you can imagine,” she retorted. “And this is my house. I go where I want.”

“You are unbelievable,” Evelyn muttered, pulling a silk dress from her suitcase and slipping it over her damp skin with deft, unhurried movements. “What do you want?”

Williams had won the surface war. She had not flinched. Internally, however, she was in chaos. She forced her voice to remain steady. “I asked you to bring my documents to my room.”

Evelyn looked at her silently for a long second, her eyes assessing. “You asked me to go back and stay in my room.”

“Well now I am asking you to bring my documents to my room. Now.”

“It’s my break now, Doctor.”

“I want those documents right now.”

“No.”

“What?”

“I said no. And now you are going to get out of my room.”

Evelyn stepped toward her, her recent bath scent intensifying with the movement. The closer she was getting, the further the doctor’s heart hammered against her ribs until finally Evelyn held out her hand in a gesture of command, gently guiding her toward the exit.

“Off working hours, if you need help, you will say so with a ‘please’ attached to it.”

Williams stared at her in disbelief. “I need my documents now.”

“Then say please. Otherwise, leave.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“Next time, you will knock before entering. I could have been completely naked, and even if you have seen stripped silhouettes before, mine is not one of your patients.”

That one struck deep.

Williams held her posture as long as she could, then left abruptly, eyes promising vengeance.

Back in her office, she stared at the documents she had wanted Evelyn to carry. The image of Evelyn in that towel had completely eclipsed the professional lecture she had come to deliver. Evelyn had made a fair point. Her body was not a broken specimen, but a vibrant, taunting contrast to Williams’s own wounded state. It looked delicious, almost tempting to touch.

“HELL NO”

Williams brushed off the disgusting thought.

She pressed her fingers to her temple, another migraine coming.

If you were an employee, I would have had you blacklisted and fired immediately, she raged inwardly.

But then she remembered Oswald, the journalist, the police, and Makizal.

Stubbornly, Williams rose and began transporting her documents from the office to the bedroom using only one hand. It required three clumsy trips, dragging the files, but it was a thousand times better than capitulating to that little teacher.

On the last trip, she regained a semblance of control. “You are your own mistress. No one gives orders to Niran Williams,” she muttered before sitting up and opening a few files.

Then her phone rang. It was Makizal.

But she silenced it instantly.

Exhaustion crept in. Her eyelids drooped. She fell onto the bed, letting the fatigue swallow her consciousness, when a knock snapped her awake.

Evelyn entered.

“What do you want?” Williams snapped, sitting up instantly.

“I am supposed to assist you. My break is over,” Evelyn said.

“I do not need you anymore. Leave.”

She sighed, unfazed by Williams’ authoritative tone. Instead, her eyes lingered on the scattered documents Williams had dragged from her office to her bedroom. “Is your hand better?”

Williams studied the defiant woman. This time, Evelyn was fully dressed in a simple, practical gown, and the doctor’s mind was clearer.

“Fine. If you want to assist me, then sit down. I am going to clarify your little brain on a subject you are failing to grasp,” Williams said, reasserting her professional superiority like a shield.

Evelyn ignored the insult and strolled forward. She sat down, letting out a dramatic, exasperated sigh.

“Traumatology is a medical discipline that focuses on physical trauma,” Williams lectured, pulling out a document with one functional hand. “That is any damage to the health system resulting from a violent and sudden external action. I have seen all kinds of people come into my operating room. Shredded, broken, between life and death. And I fixed them. My hospital is one of the best in the city.”

Evelyn watched her, stunned. Even now, paralyzed and captive, the arrogance remained intact.

“Listen, Williams—”

“Doctor Williams. And I am not finished. I do not need a lesson from a baby’s teacher.”

Evelyn stood up. “In any case, what I see is an arm that will not move. It was moving earlier, remember? When you lost your temper.”

“That can happen for several reasons,” Williams replied. “It can be due to a nerve that has not healed yet, or psychological causes, which are entirely normal for this type of injury.”

“I do not need to be a trauma specialist to see that it is psychological.”

“And what makes you say that, Miss ‘I Know Everything’?”

“Williams, please, I just wanted to help you. When these five weeks end, I will leave with my unborn baby, and you will be back in your world or at your prestigious hospital. But if your arm does not recover, people will only remember the doctor who was injured and can no longer heal anyone.”

Evelyn spoke calmly, but the words struck Williams with brutal force.

Her face flushed scarlet. The idea of her reputation collapsing, her hands failing, and her becoming useless, was her deepest terror. She turned away and pointed to the door.

“Get out of my room.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“I did not mean it that way,” Evelyn insisted, stepping closer.

“Get out of my room!” Williams shouted, her voice shaking. “OUT!”

Evelyn moved to the door, her hand resting on the lock. She paused.

Leaving now would mean submitting to Williams’s manipulation. She thought.

So, she closed the door and locked it.

“What are you doing, Evelyn?”

“That is enough,” Evelyn said, her voice suddenly calm and resolute.

She moved to the bedside table, opened Williams’s drawer, and pulled out a thin, unused rope meant for the curtain tiebacks.

“Get out immediately!”

“Then call Makizal or your guards and have them force me out,” Evelyn challenged, holding up the phone.

Williams stared at it. Then at Evelyn. She did not move.

“If you don’t call,” Evelyn warned softly, “we do things my way.”

She stepped closer and reached for Williams’s injured hand.

The doctor stiffened.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t you dare!” Williams protested, pulling back. But it was too late.

“Trust me, Williams. Stop gesturing. And stop trying to intimidate me.”

The struggle escalated rapidly. Williams lunged back, trying to escape, but Evelyn held firm. In the sudden chaos, they lost balance and fell onto the mattress. Evelyn landed first, and Williams, unable to catch herself with her injured arm, crashed down onto her.

Williams’s body pressed heavily against Evelyn’s, her weight settling over her midsection. She braced herself with her good arm and stared down. Her gaze dropped first to Evelyn’s chest, then traced the curve of her neck before meeting her eyes in the steamy, intimate haze. Evelyn lay pinned beneath her, clutching the rope.

Williams tried to scramble away, but Evelyn summoned a surprising surge of strength and flipped her over. Williams landed flat on her back, staring at the ceiling, while Evelyn straddled her lower abdomen.

“Enough, Doctor,” Evelyn said, breathless. “You are going to pull yourself together, and you are going to let me help you.”

Williams felt the pressure of Evelyn’s body against her. Uncomfortably aware, she finally relented.

“Please get up,” she whispered, the word please foreign and forced. “You are sitting on me.”

Evelyn froze, suddenly realizing the compromising position. She jumped off the bed, her face deeply flushed.

“Sorry,” she stammered.

Williams sat up, her fury replaced by confusion.

“Did I hurt you?” Evelyn asked, genuinely concerned.

Williams shook her head, looking away.

Without resistance, Evelyn stepped closer, took Williams’s healthy hand, and tied it gently behind her back with the silk rope.

“There you go,” Evelyn said. “That wasn’t complicated. Was it?”

As the knot tightened, Williams inhaled sharply. She registered Evelyn’s scent, damp cotton, linen, and the warm, unfamiliar aroma of skin. It stirred an unnamed discomfort.

“Williams?”

“Do what you have to do,” Williams muttered.

“Are you okay?” Evelyn lifted her face. “Your nose is bleeding.”

A thin trickle marked her nostril. Evelyn fetched a tissue and wiped it clean.

Williams ignored it. “Can you explain what this charade is?”

“If it is psychological, then we are going to force your brain to move your injured hand.”

“Now I am disabled in both hands! How am I supposed to do the bare minimum?”

“For the bathroom or your bath, I will untie you. Otherwise, you will stay like this. It will force your brain to engage the injured hand. For eating, writing, or anything else, I will do it for you.”

“You are not going to feed me!”

“Okay. Phew, I’m thirsty,” Evelyn said, ignoring the protest, heading toward the kitchen.

“Wait! You are joking, right? I am not walking around like this!” Williams protested, stumbling after her.

“Trust me. It will work.”

“After trauma, the brain can disconnect from the affected area,” Williams snapped. “It is called functional paralysis. Sensation remains, but voluntary movement is blocked. I suppose that sounds like gibberish to you.”

While she spoke, Evelyn fetched out a glass of water and then aimed it at her. “Are you thirsty too?”

“Are you even listening?!”

“Trust me, it will work.”

“And why?” Williams barked.

Evelyn guided her toward the window. Williams’s gaze fell immediately on Makizal, leaning against the sedan outside.

“I know why you refuse specialists,” Evelyn murmured. “It is not just pride. You cannot afford exposure. Not in front of all these people.”

She met Williams’s gaze.

“So, I know this will work because you cannot stand this situation. The less terrified you are of losing control over your hand, the more likely you’re going to make it move.”

She turned away.

“I am hungry.”

“EVELYN!” Williams roared, utterly defeated.

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